black_dahlia63 (black_dahlia63) wrote in csi_lv_slash, @ 2008-05-01 07:18:00 |
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Current mood: | tired |
Current music: | I Like It - Gerry & The Pacemakers |
“Kjaere” (Nick/Greg, 4/12)
Grab the Kleenex…chapter four’s up…
Title – Kjaere
Author - black_dahlia63
Characters – Nick Stokes, Greg Sanders, various OC’s
Spoilers - Fannysmackin’
Rating – PG
Warning – Serious angst, but hey…people kind of expect that from me by now, right?
Disclaimer – not mine, don’t sue.
Thanks to – elmyraemilie for creative input and moral support.
AN: The story covers the time span of a year, and will update by one month each chapter.
Previous instalments here.
February 10th, 6.45 p.m
“Nick -”
“What is it, sweetie?”
“Will you help me with these?” Emily asked, looking up from the heap of Valentine cards that was scattered in front of her on the kitchen table. “My fingers are getting tired.”
“Not a chance,” he told his daughter, not looking up from the letter he was reading. “Your friends at school want to see Emily written on those cards, they don’t want to see Nick.”
“No!” Emily said, a rare smile on her lips. “You have to write my name!”
“Do you know what forgery is?” Nick asked, looking Emily straight in the face with mock severity, and he watched his daughter giggle through her fingers. “You wouldn’t be laughing if you did time for it, young lady.”
“What’s time?”
“Never mind,” was the resigned answer. “Give me a few of them,” and there was an expression of triumph on the four year old’s face as she slid more than half the cards across the table towards him; for the next few minutes they were silent as Nick signed the cards with his daughter’s name and then gave them back to her to put rows of kisses on them – but every so often, he would see Emily glance up as though she wanted to say something, and finally she spoke.
“Did you give Greg a card?”
“When?”
“So he knew you liked him,” Emily said. “Madison says you have to give a boy a Valentine’s card so he knows you like him.”
“Your little friend thinks she’s got all the answers, doesn’t she?” Nick said with a smile. “It might work like that when you’re in kindergarten, but when you’re as old as I was when I met Greg it’s a bit different.”
“How did he know, then?” Emily interrupted, and Nick sensed from the expression on her face that another ‘story’ was in the offing; she had always liked hearing little anecdotes about her family, and since Greg’s injury these requests had become more frequent – almost as though she was trying to hang on to the way things had been “before”, Nick thought, and the image made his throat tighten.
“Well, I didn’t make it easy for him,” he said. “I liked him for a long time, but I didn’t tell him.”
“Why not?”
“Well, because I didn’t think he’d be interested in me,” Nick said. “I guess I was shy,” and the words were rewarded with another smile. “What’s so funny about that?”
“You’re not shy,” Emily told him. “You catch all those bad guys, you can’t be!”
“That’s not the same thing,” he said. “Some people want to meet someone and stay with them all their lives and have a family -”
“Like you did.”
“That’s right,” Nick said, and he realised that Emily had dropped all pretence at ‘work’; her chin was resting on her steepled hands, and the look on her face said that she was hanging onto his every word. “But not everyone does, and I didn’t want to let Greg know I liked him in case he didn’t want what I wanted -”
“How come you liked him?”
“Well, because he was funny,” Nick said. “Remember I told you how he sometimes wears funny hats at work and makes all those jokes?” and there was a solemn nod. “We used to go running together after work, and whenever I knew we were going to do that I’d feel really happy -”
“Well, when did you tell him you liked him?”
“I didn’t,” Nick said, and although there was a lump in his throat he was smiling at the memory. “I didn’t say anything at all, and then one morning when we were all going home he followed me to the parking lot – and he stood in front of the driver’s side of my truck so I couldn’t get in,” and another giggle erupted from his daughter’s lips. “And he said…”
“What?”
“He said was there anything I wanted to tell him,” Nick said. “I told you he was smart, didn’t I, kiddo? He knew I liked him even though I hadn’t said anything.”
“Is he gonna remember that, Nick?” Emily asked, and her little face grew solemn again. “When he wakes up?”
“He might not,” Nick said carefully, and the advice the play therapist had given him was at the forefront of his mind. Don’t give her a big lecture, Ginny had said. If she asks you something about what’s happening, just answer that question, and the strawberry blonde woman had smiled. Kind of like the birds and the bees talk you’ll have to go through in a few years…“We might have to help him figure out a few things,” he said, and he watched Emily’s face fall. “He won’t forget you,” he said firmly, and he knew Ginny would probably frown on this white lie - but damn it, he was at least going to let Emily have this bit of comfort. “Where are you?” he asked, and he watched his daughter place a hand over her heart. “That’s right,” he told her. “That’s where Greg’s got you, and he’s got me there too, so when he wakes up he’ll still remember us,” and he reached across the table for Emily’s hand. “And he’ll figure the other things out too, even though it might take him a while.”
“How do you know that?”
“Because he’s stubborn,” Nick said. “Just like you,” and his heart lightened when he saw a tentative smile reappear on Emily’s face. “Now then,” he went on, “you know what tomorrow is?”
“Saturday.”
“That’s right,” Nick replied. “And I don’t have to be back at the lab until tomorrow evening, so what’s tonight?”
“I don’t want cereal before bed any more,” Emily said quietly, looking down at the table, and Nick squeezed her hand. He had maintained the ritual of a bowl of cereal before bed on Friday or Saturday nights when nobody had to be up early the following day, even though it had hurt him to look at the empty chair on one side of the kitchen table – but he had always been prepared for the fact that one day Emily might feel the same way, and it seemed that it had finally happened.
“Well, we don’t have to have cereal if you don’t want to,” he told his daughter. “Should we do something else? What about…” and he was silent for a moment or two before an idea occurred to him. “What about driving to the diner where we sometimes have breakfast? We could have a snack there, and then you can come back here and go to bed.”
“In our pyjamas?”
“Well, we’d have to go by the drive through and then eat in the truck -”
“Yes!” Emily said, her face brightening. “I want to do that! Can we get hash browns? I like those.”
“Not right before bed,” Nick said. “They’re too greasy, you’ll get a bellyache – what about a piece of pie?”
“Okay,” was the immediate response, and Emily let go of her father’s hand as she scrambled down from her chair. “Come on, Nick.”
“What about those cards?”
“You can finish those with me in the morning,” Emily told him. “We have to go get our jammies on,” and before Nick could come up with an answer he was looking at his daughter’s retreating back.
********
February 11th, 9.30 a.m
Nick’s eyes blinked open to the sound of Emily’s voice, and he yawned as he sat up in bed. The covers were thrown every which way, a mute testament to the fact that at some point during the night his daughter had climbed into bed with him – but he had been so exhausted by a combination of work and what was happening outside work that this hadn’t even woken him.
Climbing out of bed, he padded barefoot along the hallway until he was standing in the living room doorway; the TV was on, and Emily – unaware of her father’s presence - sat cross-legged on the floor with the phone in one hand and a half-eaten Snickers bar in the other.
“- and I asked Nick, but he says it’s all full up,” she was saying. “He said maybe after the summer there’ll be room,” and when Nick cleared his throat she looked round. “He’s awake now,” she said into the phone as she got up. “I’ll let you speak to him – ‘bye, grandma, I love you,” and she walked to the doorway to hand Nick a phone that was decorated with chocolate fingerprints. “It’s grandma Jillian.”
“Thank you, sweetie,” Nick told his daughter, but she had already redirected her attention to the TV. “Hi, mom.”
“Ballet lessons?” Jillian said in an amused voice. “My granddaughter’s growing up.”
“It’ll be something else on Monday once she gets back to school,” Nick told his mother as he walked back towards his bedroom. “It’s one of her friends, that’s where she got the idea from – last week it was a TV in her room, the week before that she wanted to wear nail polish -”
“It might not be a bad idea,” was the answer. “Unless the class really is full,” and Nick sighed inwardly.
“Mom -”
“If it’s a question of money…”
“Mom, we’re fine,” Nick said, and he reflected ruefully that at least when he said this now he was telling the truth. He and Greg had both taken out disability insurance policies, even before they’d become parents, but since Greg’s injury Nick had found out that it was a great deal easier getting an insurance company to take money from you than it was to get them to pay it out – and there were two thick folders of letters that had flown back and forth between the hospital and Nick’s attorney and the insurance company to bear this out.
He’d lost count of the number of times his family – not only his mother but his siblings too, especially his sister Maggie who was an attorney – had asked him if he was all right, and although they hadn’t added the word financially it had been implied nonetheless; and because he’d been determined to retain some small measure of control over his life, he’d always told them that yes, he was all right. In reality, though, he’d been dipping into his savings to pay the sitter, even though Angie had said he could wait until the insurance company cheques started coming in; and after a shift, when Emily was at school and Nick should have been asleep, he’d tossed and turned fitfully as the spectre of having to move to a smaller apartment crept into his mind.
“It isn’t the money,” he told his mother now. “It’s – well, the classes run on a Saturday morning, and if I’m not working I’m usually asleep,” and he sighed as he sat on the edge of the bed. “The sitter would have to take her more often than not, and that isn’t the way we planned to do things -”
“Sweetheart, neither of you planned on this happening, did you?” Jillian told her son. “What would you have done if it hadn’t? One of you would have taken her while the other one went to bed, wouldn’t you? You’ve just got to do things a bit differently now.”
“I’m just missing out on so much with her now,” Nick said. “Angie’s really good, we’re so lucky we found her, but we always said -” and he paused, lowering his head and pinching the bridge of his nose hard. “We didn’t go through what we went through to get Em just so someone else could do our job for us, mom – it feels like I’m giving up -”
“Shall I tell you something, Nick?” his mother said. “You’re a lot tougher than you think, and not just over what’s going on now – after what happened to you when you were nine, I never thought you’d leave that little girl with anyone else, and nobody would have blamed you if you hadn’t. When you have children, you learn to do what’s best for them even if it doesn’t seem like the right thing at the time – and no but, mom, Nicholas Stokes,” she added, and Nick managed a shaky laugh. “You let that little girl have her ballet lessons, and she won’t care that you don’t take her there all the time,” and the next sentence made Nick blink back tears. “She knows you love her, you and Greg, even if he can’t show it right now, and that’s what matters.”
********
11.20 a.m
“Where are we going?”
“You’ll see when we get there,” Nick replied. “It’s a surprise,” and he studied the sheet of paper that bore the directions he’d scribbled down an hour and a half ago. “You want the radio?”
“Yes!” Emily cried, and at the flick of a switch the truck was filled with music that made her face light up; she began singing along in a slightly off-key voice, and for a brief instant Nick’s world was normal again.
“I fell into a burning ring of fire…”
********
“Are we here?”
“Yes, we are,” Nick told his daughter. “Undo your seatbelt and out you get.”
“Where are we going?” Emily asked as she scrambled out of what she scornfully called her ‘baby seat’, but before she received an answer a smile wreathed her face when she spotted a familiar figure. “Look, Nick, I see Jessie! Jessie!” she bellowed at an ear-splitting level, and Nick had to bite his lower lip to suppress a smile as the fifteen year old hurriedly let a cigarette fall from her fingers. “Come on, Nick, come on!” Emily said, tugging on her father’s hand, and the two of them crossed the small parking lot to reach a two-storey red brick building.
“Hi, Jessie!”
“Hello, trouble,” was the answer, and Jessica smiled down at Emily; lengths of bright red wool had been woven into her hair, and she wore a Coheed & Cambria T shirt over a pair of black jeans. “Mom’s getting her nails done, she’ll be back in an hour,” she told Nick, and apprehension crept into her eyes. “Are you gonna tell her you saw me -?”
“That’s between you and your mom,” Nick said, still managing – just barely – to keep himself from smiling. “Where’s your sister?”
“The brat’s inside changing,” Jessica said, and she pushed open a door. “Come on, I’ll show you where you have to go.”
“Where are we going, Nick?” Emily asked again, still clutching her father’s hand as they entered the building; piano music was audible through a nearby door, and when it was pushed open Nick saw his daughter’s eyes widen as she saw a dozen little girls wearing leotards.
“Nick!” Emily stage-whispered. “Look! It’s Madison!”
“Hello there,” a voice said before Emily could speak, and a statuesque black woman with her hair in cornrows was smiling warmly as she approached them. “I bet you’re Emily,” she went on, bending down to Emily’s level. “I’m Miss Alicia - is this your daddy?” and the four year old nodded shyly. “Well, I spoke to him on the phone today, and he told me you’d like to try some ballet lessons – is that right?”
“Yes’m,” Emily said in a near-whisper, once she’d been nudged into answering, and then she looked up at her father. “Nick, I don’t have the special outfit.”
“Well, that doesn’t matter right now,” Miss Alicia said reassuringly. “You’ve got sweatpants and a T shirt on, and that’s going to be fine for today – and if you think you want to come back next week, your daddy can take you to buy the special outfit before then. How about that?” and once she’d received an enthusiastic nod in response she straightened up to look at Nick. “You can stay and watch if you like, but most of the parents don’t,” she said, and brilliantly white teeth flashed in a smile. “These little girls can get very squeaky – there’s a diner down the block, you might want to kill some time there -”
“What do you think, sweetheart?” Nick asked, crouching down to look his daughter in the face. “Shall I stay, or will you be okay if I leave?”
“You can leave,” Emily said, prompting laughter from the ballet teacher – and before Nick could stand up, arms were flung round his neck so tightly that he could hardly breathe.
“Thank you for my lesson,” Emily whispered. “I love you, I love you, I love you -”
*********
Pickering Wharf - February 18th, 10.15 p.m
He didn’t get here nearly as often as he would have liked to, and so the visits he did manage were sacred – as the people who worked for him, directly or indirectly, were told whenever he managed to escape. “Unless it involves dialling 911, it can wait till I get back,” he’d said, more times than he could remember. “If I get a call in Salem for some bullshit reason, you’ll get busted lower than buck private in the army,” and after he’d fired a hapless trainee who’d gotten him out of his hot tub to ask where the spare set of keys for one of the bikes was, the warning had been heeded.
He’d bought the condo just after he’d signed the contract with MTV to do Road Trip; his search for what he called his “weekend place” had taken several months, and just when he was starting to think he’d driven every real estate agent in Salem completely nuts, one of them had shown him round the Pickering Wharf place. “I know it’s a little over your budget, Mr. Morrissey,” she’d said, “but I remember you telling my boss you wanted a waterfront view,” and as soon as he’d stepped out onto the deck Luke had known he had to have the condo, no matter what it cost - if I was straight, I’d kiss you, honey, he’d said, and the diminutive woman had blushed scarlet.
While his townhouse in Daytona always seemed to have other people in it, nobody else had ever been to the Salem place, and that was the way he liked it. There was a TV, but it was hardly ever turned on; when Luke was here, a great deal of his time was spent sleeping in the antique sleigh bed or sitting on the patio of the Regatta watching the world go by – but he would have had to admit, if anyone had asked him, that what he enjoyed most was sitting on his balcony with its lakefront view.
There had always been something about looking out at water that had soothed him, whether it had been during childhood vacations or during escapes from the increasing pressures of work where he would sit on the deck with a drink – either the one beer he occasionally allowed himself, or a club soda crammed with ice and a squeeze of lime juice. He’d let himself tune in to the gentle sound of rippling water, and little by little the outside world seemed to slip into the distance.
This was exactly what he was doing now, despite the chill in the air; he lay stretched out on a teak lounger, a Marlboro slowly turning to ash between two fingers of his right hand and an empty glass on the deck at his left side. His ears picked up conversation and laughter from somewhere nearby – probably the Regatta, he guessed – along with the sound of water lapping against the shoreline and against the boats moored below the building…
…and just as his eyes were closing, drops of water began to fall on his face.
Well, enough fresh air for one night, he told himself as he scrambled out of the lounger and grabbed his glass along with his pack of Marlboros; he crossed the deck and stepped back into the condo, sliding the door shut just as the rain began to come down in earnest. He kicked off his shoes and lit a cigarette before padding across the living room and sitting at one end of the couch; reaching for his laptop, he booted it up and then logged in to MSN – and it wasn’t long before a small window flashed in one corner of the screen
Hi, Uncle Luke!
Shouldn’t you be in bed? he typed, a smile spreading across his face. It’s after eleven where you are.
It’s Saturday, came the reply from his fourteen year old nephew in Wisconsin. Are you at home?
I’m in Salem – just taking a break from work.
When can me and Ben come to Daytona again?
Ben and *I*, Luke typed in response. I’ll speak to your mom and dad, maybe we can do something over spring break.
OMG! came the instant response. Dad just busted me, got 2 go! and seconds later Luke was looking at a message telling him that MaxieD was no longer online; he was still chuckling softly when a soft ‘ping’ alerted him to a new email, and in the next instant his smile faded.
Luke -
I know it’s been a while since you rang and left that message, and I’m sorry it’s taken me so long to answer and let you know what’s going on.
There’s no real change in Greg – he got an infection around the incision they made to insert his feeding tube, but the doctor told me that’s about par for the course the first few months, and when I went in this evening his fever was down at least. God, “first few months” – I almost feel like I’m getting used to this now, all these medical things, you know?
Emily’s fine at school, she’s fine when she sleeps at the sitter’s or her friends’ houses, but when she’s at home she’s like a different kid. Like those whiny, scratchy ones you see at the grocery store - G and I always used to look at those kids and laugh and say that if our kid was ever like that she wouldn’t sit down for a week, but it’s different when there’s a reason for it. I just wish I could be sure I was doing enough to help her, you know? She’s too little to really talk about what she’s feeling, and sometimes she won’t speak at all – I feel like it’s my fault somehow, because I told her that if we went to see Greg and talked to him he’d wake up and come home. She won’t go and see him every day any longer – it’s down to a couple of times a week – but she always draws a picture for me to take in when she doesn’t want to come with me, and they’ve practically covered half a wall now.
I know this probably isn’t the kind of news you were hoping to get, and I know how you feel – it’s been four months now, give or take, and I thought he’d at least be awake by now. I haven’t given up, though, even if it looks like everyone else is starting to – it’s hard for the rest of the team to come and see G now, especially Sara, and I can’t actually remember the last time she was at the hospital if I’m honest.
I did listen to you about one thing, though – I see someone every week to talk about all this. He looks like Jerry Garcia in a suit and tie, he’s the last person you’d see on the street and peg as a shrink - but he lets me rant, and that’s helping. Not very much yet, but I suppose this kind of thing takes time, right?
I know I’ve rambled a bit here, and I’m sorry – but if you meant what you said about keeping in touch, I’d like that, because it’d be nice to hear from someone who’s not the hospital or work or my family once in a while.
Either way, give my best to your folks, and take care.
Nick.
To be continued.